


He had been a friend

by SnowshoeCat



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 20:37:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5178755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowshoeCat/pseuds/SnowshoeCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a one off torture thing, archive warnings pretty much say it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He had been a friend

He had been a friend, at some point. He trusted him. He had followed when he said he had something to show him. He had been there before, in the basement. It stored tools and the like, with a mattress on the floor they used as a couch to watch a shitty old tv. He felt safe. He saw his friend load up a video then disappear, to find some drinks. He heard metal shifting behind him. He turned around, and then saw stars. A lancing pain shot through his skull. He felt his arms being yanked above his head and then bound. Plastic bit deep into the flesh of his wrists and cold metal rested behind them. He writhed but was struck across the face roughly until he stopped struggling. He stared up at this man and began tearing up, He asked why. He asked what he did to deserve this. His cries were ignored. He was told to shut up quite harshly. And with the thread of being struck again, he quieted. He whimpered as his pants were stripped off him. His shirt was cut off. He again tried to struggle. This all was wrong. But he was struck again, and this time with something metal. Harsh words were spoken to him, orders to shut up and stop moving. Called things like whore and slut. He was in a daze from the blows to the head he took. It throbbed so badly that he thought surely his head had been split open. He stopped struggling out of fear for more punishment. A new sensation came over him then. The man's tongue had started tracing over his body, leaving a trail of ice shooting though him. He continued down towards his crotch. Al nearly squirmed out of his skin, but the restraints held fast and a threatening voice warned him of what would happen if he continued to fight. The man began sucking him off. He was completely disgusted to the core, but his body didn't care. It responded to the touch and he was brought to climax by his assailant. Once he got over the daze that followed his release, he felt shame lance through him. Shame and disgust. How easy he had been to manipulate. In his despair, he could hardly sense himself being twisted around and his legs spread. His hole was spat on. The man was using Al's own cum as lube. Al grit his teeth and shut his eyes as tightly as he could. He was slapped and his face held up as he was commanded to watch. To his horror he noticed a mirror a few feet away. He was forced to watch the whole thing. It was a sort of pain he had never experienced before. The physical pain was only one part of it, though it was there. And it was what he had to focus on. He felt something inside him tear and saw blood leaking slowly down his legs. The man came after what had seemed like an eternity to Al. He stayed inside Al for a while before he roughly jerked himself out. He got dressed and left, leaving Al bound and bleeding. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the mirror. He wanted to, so desperately. To look away, and have this all disappear. But he couldn't look away. It was surreal. He looked at the bloody wounds, the bruises. His face was badly beaten, he could hardly recognize himself. His wrists were torn to ribbons from the struggles and biting plastic. Blood and cum was leaking from his ass, which would also undoubtedly be bruised. Bite marks were showing up, though he couldn't remember when he had been bitten. The only thing to break the trance of the mirror was the door creaking open. It felt like he had been frozen solid. He was too terrified to even so much as breathe. His attacker came around him with a camera. Pictures were taken of him from every angle, of every mark, of everything. The camera was set down and he saw his attacker pulling up a pair of garden sheers. The rusty tool was drug up his chest, leaving deep scratches in its wake. The sheers came to rest at his throat. His attacker informed him that if he ever spoke word about this, that the sheers against his neck would be the last thing he felt. The sheers were then used to cut his wrists free. He then dropped the sheers back on the work bench and left with the camera. Al did nothing for a while. He stared out the door, which had been left open. Air blew in and he shivered against it. It was pitch black outside. He got up slowly, grabbing his clothes. He slunk up the stairs and out into the night like a beaten dog. He alternated running and walking very slowly home, which thankfully wasn't too far off. He opened his back door and locked it immediately after himself. He collapsed on the floor. The clothes were kicked into a corner. For the rest of the night, he didn't move. Inside, he was on fire with more emotions than he could count. Outside he had searing pains. As the night drug on, ice filled his veins, numbing him physically and emotionally. He fell asleep on the floor. In the morning he forced himself up. He forced himself to clean the kitchen. He scrubbed it. Then he scrubbed himself in the shower. No matter how hard he scrubbed, he felt awful. The evidence of what happened was written on his skin. He stayed home for a couple of weeks. He didn't leave the house once. He couldn't.


End file.
